grassy field with rustgrassy field with rustgrassy field with rust3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
I'd heard about the old car, three miles out of town and all alone. I just had to see it. It was time. School was over for the summer, my friends were at camp, and I was bored. I set out Thursday morning for a hike, following directions that Uncle Will had given me. As the heat was still growing with the climb of the sun, I found the field and wandered around looking, and looking some more, trying not to be distracted by bees buzzing in the flowers, and butterflies and baby mice. Then it was there, just a bit upslope from the bottom of a natural swale, and just below the sky at the top of the bank. A 1959 Cadillac convertible, but not like the old music videos showed.
This one was part buried in grass gone to seed and turned almost white golden with the dry heat. The tires were collapsed cracked pieces and there wasn't a trace of pink paint anywhere. Rust owned it, and it held on so tight that holes were showing in what used
Grass AngelSunsplashed buildings, clear blue skiesGrass Angel4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
No traffic, no pedestrians; silence.
The end of June, the end of music.
No birds, no wind, no dreams
except this one.
This clinical, sterile dream,
Inside looking out
As the sun slowly makes its way
across the sky,
The only sound is the ticking clock.
I'm going outside to make a grass angel.
RecessionA man on fire walked calmly out of the building, through glass doors that were maybe there, maybe not. Hit the bricks, pound the pavement, skin a cat or two. I saw what he was thinking, it formed a black cloud above his head.Recession4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He thought of old photographs and wicker furniture, of how dark it was inside for all of those plants to thrive. He thought of chances taken and opportunities missed. The monologue in his burning head was a constant buzzing fly, a death rattle.
Old TV shows, bad poetry, seasons, songs and metalworks; nothing could shut out the memories or calm the storm inside. Treading water, he wished that he could fly again. Over the horizon he walked, never seeing the starving child scuffling along behind.
A man on fire disappeared from the picture plane today, through glass doors that were maybe there, maybe not. Hit the road, Jack, make tracks, don't step on a crack. Leaving dust and ash, smoke-feathers and birthday candles, he receded.
in praise of scavengersOh, those crows,in praise of scavengers4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
perceptive and wise and with a sense of time and season.
They know how emotional humans get
when Christmas comes.
What suckers they are for feeding the birds,
an act of love when they can give no love to others
The crows settle in apartment block parking lots
the way seagulls gather in shopping strips
next to fast food joints
or hover and flap in masses
on the scrapheaps of garbage scows
sent from the city
with the dregs of living
Heading HomeBitter-boned, I break and crumble to dustHeading Home3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
My pockets full of keys to places that no longer exist
An oystershell ashtray full of butts and ashes beside me
Testify to dreams of green hedges and white picket fences
A tapping on the door, a rapping on the wall
Ghosts always like this hour just before dawn
A bird screeches and I wake again to the stinging day
And shufflestep towards home from a thousand worlds away
DinnerTin cup rattle, see how the stars align tonight?Dinner2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Wooden table thunk, look, they're smiling!
Scrape of chair on wooden floor, one just winked at me
Meager meal by candlelight, but so happy, so happy
These are the days of wonder and love, the little days
The bright spots stitched in between work and boredom
Between births and deaths and catastrophes, these are the days
Leave the dishes for the kitchen elves, come to bed, she says
And the stars really do wink and smile
EastMy window faces east, I sit at my desk and stareEast3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
at the headlights crawling west past the backlit buildings
Sometimes I watch from the roof, looking west
just to get a different view, but it's all the same
Days come and go, nights come and go, but I stay
There's a place by the ocean I dream about, early morning mist
grey water, grey skies becoming blue, solitude, stillness
I keep a key in my pocket with "love" written on it, and wonder
what it might unlock; maybe trade the city dust for ocean spray
Someday, one day, but not today, it's never today
I close the blinds against the rising of the sun and go back to work
But the key in my pocket is warm against my thigh, it says "fly"
But I wait; fate will find me in the right place at the right time
It always does, somehow, and my brain whispers to my heart
to be patient, good things wait, but farther down the line
newshours no longer whittle into daysnews3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
strangled and uncalendared;
forbidden rituals of a new dark Eros
clothesline sheets and bed throes → blunders in a blue face
and sensing your reversals, i’ve grown and grown impossibly old;
god’s bad math:
infinities as remainders.
however they lapse
i spend the better part of them
burning through the flyleaves
for mandalas sealed in hell bank
for ashes of your epilogue
for the end of throats
in songs and news.
no one can regret their past
but of futures . . .
like when planets will re-purpose you
into interstellar fruit bats or thyme pulled from the brink of comets
and you’re wondering why i'll never find you
when datebooks write us in the living.
TiredI am tired, heavy-footed, worn with wear I wear my hairTired3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Cold air blows through windows trying to nip the buds
I watch the cigarette smoke whip through the air currents
Saddened by the sun's insistence, shining on a day like
I am rust, I am crushed metal, junkyard darkness, graveyard
I can't remember when I remembered what I'm trying so hard
Fire in oil drums replace the sun and the screaming and singing's
I can't sing anymore, like Clancy can't, and the noise in my head's a
Soul JuiceSqueeze out the last drops in glorious colorSoul Juice3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The rind is mashed, rotten, ruined
But the juice is beautiful
When I dream of myself, or others, we're
always in our prime
Tallmy words are green tonightTall4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
written in the air in a neon glow
standing on the corner in the snow
reciting poetry from memory
i feel very tall
there is power in words
and tonight i'm in control
looming large and strong and
and feeling very tall
have i had too much? no,
just enough to clearly see
my shoulders are straight, my
head held high
speaking green words
and very, very tall
DrownBlackness at three AMDrown4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Books of hymns
Ribbons, wreathes, smoke
Phone calls from the dead
These things I know
ashesthe ashes of loveashes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
just like always
the busses still run
where we once walked
we never quite went into
except to hot dog stands
Lots of onions and grease
and mustard in our minds
My mind, anyway
I look into the park
and see lakes
Lakes we never swam in
Never soaked in the ghostly emotion
never cooled enough to last
We burned on park edges
where I stand now
Watching a bus go by
With you on it.
Lancelot Price 2013 October 17
Eventthe stars are sharp and the wind has teethEvent3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
night is black as a bodybag
clanking, buzzing sounds surround
as the wind has its way with the town
dimlights from the hospital over there
cheerios in milk over here
the night ripped in two by the surgeons saw
the dreamless, the hopeless, the flawed
(sometimes the world shifts on its axis
and never settles right again)
the wind is sharp and the stars have teeth
chewing through the darkness
eating dreams, vomiting dust to the ground
the surgeon pulls his mask down
nothing more that we could do
goodnight, i've other things to tend to
bonesaw and flatline sounds surround
as the wind has its way with the town
StarsFat and fuzzy stars tonight, baby blue comfortStars3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Singing lullabies, soothing through the cold clear night
Promises of spring;
Windowpane lookers, abandon your sorrow
Wide-eyed children, believe that tomorrow
Unseen, the stars
The stars still sing
Breakfast At Connie'sSmall birdbones, brittleBreakfast At Connie's4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Large eggs over easy
Tiny dogs yip and nip at the feet
Under the table
A lock of hair in ashes
A crow cawing from the bookcase
Breakfast at Connie's is always
So damned surreal
Last chance for a smoke before the show begins
Light 'em if you got 'em, or just light a candle
Italian Catholic grey-eyed girls
A pumping heart dessert
Hidden in plain sight
Ignored by all as proper etiquette demands
They leave softly
Marching in softshoe-step rhythm
Crunching small bones beneath their feet
Wondering why it's still dark and why the
Show still goes on
water processspirit-sloth and overdone;water process3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
wonder-lost and undercome:
you are trenchant, sweet love.
you planted early mornings-
I lay coffee-drunk and thin;
the stir of your brown hands.
Waiting For ZeroesWaiting For ZeroesWaiting For Zeroes2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The battery's dead on my Braille translator
Fingers numb on keyboards
"Can't touch this." never meant so much or little
scrambling slowly on skull's insides
The roads are oiled
iced and dicey
All the pips are ones
Tractionless in aspic
grapes in green
All the pips are ones
Why does binary
never use twos?
thirty-threeIt took thirty-three years to reach the place my dad wasthirty-three2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
He was there that long ago
Standing on a hill and looking out to far horizons
I wonder if he saw the same things I see
I know now that he loved me
though I couldn't see that then
Ahead the mountain stands
Climbed or no, I cannot say
but I walk on
On to the next and higher hill.
Lancelot Price 2013 August 29
seekerI wander much through such old country,seeker3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
a ghost who's thinking of other ghosts,
missing them and their effects,
an exile from the present, and from past.
Witches MarketMidnight fell like an old black bird;Witches Market3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I meant to wait for you.
There were tables rich with
amethyst and pearls,
and fragrance by the fistful,
mint and petrichor.
I meant to wait for you.
You were gliding through the haze
with your knotted bag half full-
shadows flicked their tongues
above your knees;
you meant to look for me.
Moments ran like mice;
a silver pot, a cup of tea.
She stank of vinegar and thyme-
the hand was hers, the heart was mine.
Her iron eyes reflected flame;
she took my lungs, she took my name,
though you had meant to look for me,
and I had to meant to wait for you
amid the black salt and the brew.
Ash for the handle,
Birch for the brush,
Willow for the cord that binds the twigs.
MeanderingHardly a mountain, though on lowering days its head sits wreathedMeandering3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
By the mists of a passing front, aged and befogged as bygone elders
Doddering about before there were names for the malaise
That hazed their thinking
And from this modest crown there slouched and sloped
A long shoulder, meandering down to meadows below
Pausing now and again to coddle a pleasant hollow
Casting a sloping pitch enough to rush a torrent
After a sudden shower
Its glint and glimmer burble among the stones
To join a rill and plash and swirl and putter about a root
It's there I'm apt to wander
Not much of a path, hard passed and thorny
As twisted and narrow as the thoughts of bigoted men
Treading there finds stern resistance and stones to turn the foot
The clatter and crunch of brittle leaf acorns pop and skitter
A plenteous crop, beyond the appetite of wild things at forage
Leathery husks abound, pignut hickory the ebon stains of walnut
On taking pause the quiet lay, a